


Ik Win

by Anonymous



Category: WTFock | Skam (Belgium)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Fingering, Just two horny disasters, M/M, Robbe is horny-on-main, facesitting, sander is a good boyfriend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:40:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23933956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: the oblivious!Sander and desperate!Robbe drabble (which became a oneshot) you’ve all been waiting for...
Relationships: Sander Driesen/Robbe IJzermans
Comments: 5
Kudos: 256
Collections: Anonymous, Anonymous Fics





	Ik Win

**Author's Note:**

> special thanks to skamsnake for reading as always <3 and for the thirst Anons who prompted this fic in the first place <3

Everything aches. His neck. His shoulders. His head. 

But mostly, Robbe aches from how out of step he is. How much he misses who he was before he let exam stress overwhelm him. How much he misses relaxing into Sander’s touch. How much he hates who he’s become in the final strait of school.

Robbe knows why Sander insisted they go to the supermarket together, and on a rational level he agrees - he should get some fresh air, do a practical task, and revisit studying when he’s more centred. But the problem is Robbe can’t think right now. These are his final exams, the results that dictate whether or not he gets into university. He does not have _time_ to relax.

Still. He’s been coerced into standing in the fruit section, wishing he would disappear, while Sander inspects a tray of oranges. 

Robbe’s only half-there. His head is still stuck in geometry homework and existential dread. As he dawdles there, idly picking up a netted bag of lemons and listening to Sander mumble along to himself, he feels increasingly guilty, even more than guilty he feels _ashamed_ , for how unavailable he’s been the last few weeks. He and Sander have never fought as often as they have since Robbe went feral over his exams. Though Sander doesn’t really fight him - it’s more like Sander lets him simmer and snap and rage, and Sander bites back when it gets too much, then Robbe apologises until he can’t stand himself.

‘I’m thinking of making that spiced dessert with the quark and the mango,’ Sander offers, as he trails his gaze to a box of peaches. 

‘You don’t have to go to that effort,’ Robbe grumpily replies. ‘I keep telling you, it’s just dinner.’

Sander rolls his eyes and smiles at his stubborn boyfriend before he steps closer to him and places a firm peach in his hand. ‘And I keep telling you,’ Sander says, leaving a quick kiss on his cheek, ‘I want to make something nice on your night off.’

‘It’s not my night off.’

‘Yes it is,’ Sander says decidedly, before returning to the box of peaches and studiously searching for another. The tone of his voice is Robbe’s first hint. Sander only uses that voice when he’s taking charge. And Robbe loves it when he takes charge.

It’s not like he’s forgotten how hot his boyfriend is, or how much he likes being with him, he’s just not been able to be _interested_ in hooking up when he’s this stressed. And fuck, does he miss it. And somehow, some mercy has shone on him from heaven, and he can feel the interest come back with a sickening whiplash that leaves him breathless.

So Robbe watches, attentive now, as Sander bends over the tray and trails a finger along the cleft in one of the peaches, then lifts it with a delicate touch and turns it over onto his palm. Robbe stares. Sander’s not even trying to be suggestive, but all Robbe can see is how good that peach looks in Sander’s hand. 

Sander runs his thumb over the skin softly, just feeling the peach fuzz, and Robbe’s mouth waters as he remembers what Sander’s touch feels like on his own skin, a swift and vivid memory that imprints itself on him in real time, so real that he could swear it’s actually happening. He runs his fingers over the peach in his own hand unconsciously, compulsively.

When Sander brings the peach to his lips and smells it, Robbe’s mouth waters. He feels like he’s watching some kind of soft porn in real time, made even more delicious and forbidden by the fact that Sander has no idea what it’s doing to him. Sander smiles, evidently pleased at this peach, and puts it in the basket. 

Robbe assumes that’s the end of it, he can just file away that specific kink for a later time, but then Sander returns his attention to the tray and picks up another peach. Immediately, Robbe’s gut twists.

It’s just zero to a hundred. The weeks of no release, no relaxation, no intimacy all catch up with Robbe, who’s suddenly standing tense with desperate, unsatisfied sexual tension that feels almost like _rage_. He needs his boyfriend naked. Now. 

He wonders if Sander is purposefully trying to get a reaction out of him. If Sander is making a grossly overt reference to _Call Me By Your Name_ right here in broad daylight. But Sander isn’t looking at Robbe for a response, he’s probably spent no time at all just picking out peaches, it’s just Robbe catching up on all his repressed frustration and loneliness - realising he has ignored his own needs for far too long.

Every move his boyfriend makes now seems to be in slow motion: the way Sander runs his thumb across the peach skin, his thumbnail teasing the cleft in the fruit so gently, the way he smells it again, and Robbe hopes against hope that Sander would just lick it salaciously and bite into the soft skin, let the juices drip along his lips and down his chin, and that Sander would look over at him then and there and swallow, wipe his face with his sleeve, and smirk, before biting it again. Just staring at Robbe the whole time, licking up the juices with his wet tongue, putting two fingers in Robbe’s mouth for good measure, making a scene right there in public, where anyone could be watching, but he’s just doing it for Robbe, he’s only staring at Robbe, he only wants to give Robbe the exact same treatment--

‘I feel like we need rum,’ Sander says, unknowingly interrupting Robbe’s dream porn video, ‘Put these peaches into a pitcher with some fresh mint, lime juice and white rum? That’s a party.’

He turns to Robbe while Robbe’s inner turntable makes a record scratch as he’s jolted back to reality.

‘Sound good?’ 

Robbe can only nod, swallow, and feel the sweat rise on his neck.

‘You ok?’ Sander asks, taking in whatever strained expression must be on Robbe’s face right now. Robbe nods, and can’t think of any single way to explain to his own boyfriend that he’s just overwhelmed with a sudden and terrible arousal, so instant and unprompted that he might need to jerk off before they even get home. As he stands there, mentally flailing, Sander walks a little closer, and lowers his voice. 

‘We can skip the big dinner and just go back to mine and play video games instead? Or you can get an early night’s sleep and start fresh tomorrow?’ Sander offers, backtracking all their plans at the sight of Robbe seeming so absent.

‘No,’ Robbe says, a little too loudly, so much so that Sander recoils a little, ‘Sorry, I just- you- yes, let’s get the groceries and go. I want to… see you. I wanna not think about work. I want...’

He looks to Sander’s lips, throat, shoulders, forearms, hands, fingers, where he’s still holding the damn peach, the peach he so badly wants to _be_ right now, at Sander’s mercy. He’s sure Sander can tell. It’s not like Robbe’s ever been subtle about how he looks at his man.

It’s only that Sander is usually the initiator. Sander is usually the one seducing Robbe. The tables have turned now and Robbe has forgotten how to just show Sander what he’s thinking.

‘Is my baby hungry?’ Sander asks, flirtatiously, and Robbe makes a sound through his nose, leaning into Sander’s chest.

‘Don’t be mean,’ he mumbles against Sander’s jacket.

‘OK,’ Sander says, glancing at the list on his Notes app, ‘if you get the rum, the milk and the cereal, I’ll get the rest.’

Robbe leans in and kisses Sander, who seems entirely surprised by the gesture, and it’s with a pang of guilt again that Robbe realises he hasn’t initiated a kiss in weeks. And so he amps it up, licks along his boyfriend’s lips that he’s fucking missed without realising it, and then licks into his mouth for good measure. Sander sighs into it, cupping Robbe’s cheek and kissing him back, just how Robbe likes it. Sander always tastes good. Not of any particular taste. Just _good_.

With a new light in his eyes now Robbe is really present with him, Sander says in that voice that scratches and rumbles, ‘You remember the first time we went shopping together?’ 

Robbe groans, ‘Yes. You would not shut up about Bowie.’

‘I had to say something,’ Sander replies against Robbe’s lips, kissing his boy with delight, ‘which wasn’t about how badly I wanted you.’

Curling his fingers around Sander’s collar, Robbe pulls him closer and kisses him long and slow, needing him to understand without words how badly he wants him _now_. Surely Sander knows. Sander probably could tell how much the peach turned him on. And bringing up the first day they met? He must know, Robbe decides. Sander’s just having his fun.

And sure enough, Sander puts his free hand on Robbe’s ass and says, ‘Go on now, get the rum, milk and cereal. I’ll see you at the check-outs in like 5 minutes.’

Robbe makes a small noise of protest but eventually concedes. Still, he gives Sander a look as he walks away, and Sander simply winks back.

It seems Sander is determined to drive Robbe wild before they get home. After they gather their groceries, Sander holds Robbe’s hand down Grotesteenweg, stopping at every single art gallery and boutique shop window, joking about buying the most expensive display items -- _that waistcoat would look amazing on you, baby_ \-- and Robbe barely controls his temper, huffing and pulling Sander away from them. They go through the park on their way back and Sander stops to take pictures of the blooming flowers. Robbe is already at the end of the path before he realises, and he turns back to look and impatiently grunt, ‘ _Sander!_ For fuck sake.’

Sander grins at him, stands up, and takes a picture of Robbe, too; Robbe smiles, but stamps his foot and rolls his eyes. ‘Stop taunting me!’ he complains, putting his head in his hands.

‘I’m not … ?’ Sander says, puzzled, as he catches up to his boyfriend, and Robbe groans, taking his hand and pulling him along.

‘Well I can _not_ wait any longer.’

  
  
  


*

  
  


Sander has no idea what is wrong with his boyfriend today. 

He’d been trying to get Robbe to loosen up for weeks now, but it was an uphill battle -- he’d never seen anyone so stressed and so unable to accept help. And when he tried to call Robbe out on it, he only made Robbe more anxious. A few more near-arguments had to happen before he realised it would only help Robbe for Sander to be a present, but mostly passive, support. 

It’s natural for relationships to go through varying periods of emotional availability (as he discovered from reading one of the more helpful internet forums of romance advice). But it’s the physical availability that Sander misses most. He can understand why Robbe can’t be his usual warm, giving self right now; but the fact that Robbe isn’t comfortable with a lot of intimacy is taking its toll on Sander, who needs touch to feel grounded and loved. They’ve rarely kissed the last few weeks, let alone anything else, and it’s always Sander initiating it. If Robbe didn’t text him _welterusten liefje_ most nights, Sander would have had little sign that they were still dating. 

And on a more selfish note, Sander has missed the sex. He’s so tired of his hand now, it barely works. And it’s dry and chafed from the efforts. Nothing is better than his boyfriend. 

So the dinner date was intended to give Robbe a night off work - but it was also Sander’s way to gently remind Robbe that he needed him too.

However: somewhere between meeting at the supermarket, and sharing a brief hug, and getting back to Robbe’s apartment, something happened. Because Robbe went from being withdrawn (and trying not to be), to being impatient and antsy, even frustrated. Sander can’t read it; he’s tried asking, directly and indirectly, he’s tried flirting, he’s tried offering a new plan, but Robbe is nearly running home, dragging Sander along when he’s not going quickly enough. 

Sander’s starting to think Robbe is planning on cramming in some more study before dinner, but it’s only when they finally get home and Robbe slams the door behind them that Sander gets the real story.

Robbe rips his own coat off with a mumbled curse, and Sander stares at him, speechless, holding the bag of shopping in one hand. When Robbe finally throws his coat on the ground, he rounds on Sander, grabs his jacket collar, and pins him against the wall, his tongue heavy in Sander’s mouth.

Sander doesn’t care that it is rushed, he’s just in shock that Robbe’s lips are on his and his arms around him. 

He also doesn’t care that he’s slightly uncomfortable with his backpack pressing into his spine. But he does care that he doesn’t understand what’s happened.

Then Robbe grabs on to Sander’s jacket and licks into his mouth with a possessiveness Sander hasn’t experienced before. 

‘Robbe--’ Sander mumbles, ‘hey, what’s going on--?’

Robbe takes hold of Sander’s bag straps and forces them down his arms, but Sander bends his elbows and refuses to move. 

‘Robbe?’

‘Just-- put the fucking groceries down and fuck me _now_!’ Robbe moans, kissing him again, unzipping his jacket instead now.

And just like that, time in Sander’s brain stops. Entirely.

It’s so unreal he feels like it must not be happening. He’s wanted to feel between his boyfriend’s legs for so long now he’s not sure he heard right. It’s probably his imagination.

He freezes, drops the groceries and his backpack, and watches the way his boy pulls at his clothes and drags his hands through Sander’s hair, licking into his mouth while he presses a thigh against Sander’s dick. 

‘You--’ Sander stutters out, ‘you wanna … do the nasty?’

And if there was ever proof he’s been celibate for too long, it’s that.

For the life of him, he cannot understand why the words he just said were the ones his brain chose to communicate. He can sense how all his charm and allure has evaporated, as he stands against the wall, his jacket half-off, while Robbe stills against him.

Pulling back, Robbe frowns at him, before he laughs, and laughs harder. ‘What- did you just say- _do the nasty_? Are you serious?’

Feeling blood paint his cheeks in embarrassment, Sander pulls a face and decides to double-down. ‘Yeah, I- uh. You want some sexy time, right? Lay the pipe. Fill the cream donut.’

Robbe puts a hand over Sander’s mouth and pulls at Sander’s belt with his other hand. ‘Stop talking,’ he says, still smiling, before he leans in, takes his hand away, and kisses Sander long and slow. 

Sander kisses back, every movement feeling concentrated now, and helps Robbe open his belt, his eyes rolling back in his head as he catches up to what’s happening. He murmurs, ‘Bed-- bedroom--’

But Robbe snips the lock on the front door and leans in to whisper against Sander’s ear: 

‘Milan and Zoë are out for the rest of the day.’ 

He whips the belt off Sander’s jeans and lets it drop to the floor, which sounds like a demand of its own. 

But Robbe still has that softness in his eyes, the raised shoulders and submissive gaze that tell Sander his boyfriend is being bold, and that Robbe just wants Sander to take charge. He wants a little bit of normality back. And Sander knows, he can give him that.

‘So we have the flat to ourselves, hm?’ Sander replies, glancing his nose off of Robbe’s, teasing him for kisses while Robbe clings to him, huffing when Sander denies him another kiss.

‘Yes,’ Robbe whispers, ‘ _yes_.’

‘The … _whole_ flat?’ Sander replies, dipping down to kiss along Robbe’s neck, up to his ear.

‘ _Yes_.’

Taking hold of Robbe’s waist, Sander wraps his arms around it and pulls Robbe closer, licking his bottom lip before he kisses it.

‘You know the thing I like,’ Sander says between kisses. ‘Can we do that?’

Robbe grabs hold of Sander’s t-shirt and pulls it out from his jeans. ‘Whatever it is, yes,’ he says, hurriedly, dragging the t-shirt up Sander’s chest and then over his head. He drops it on the floor, then snakes a hand in Sander’s hair and pulls it, tilting Sander’s head down for a kiss.

‘ _Fuck_ , I’ve missed you,’ Sander sighs against his lips, unzipping Robbe’s hoodie and pushing it down his arms and onto the ground. ‘I’ve missed you so much,’ he says again as he kisses down Robbe’s neck. 

He doesn’t know how this is real, how all the things he’s wanted to do are suddenly freely available. But he’s catching up to it as Robbe opens his zipper and feels down the inside of his boxers, palms against Sander’s abdomen, fingers spread and slowly reaching for Sander’s most intimate place. 

Sander is out of breath already, his face slack as Robbe wraps a hand around him, and drags his boxers and jeans down - only as far as Sander’s knees. Robbe is clearly in a hurry.

Their breathing is heavy and shallow, their bodies already shivering and melting against each other, shaking with the need for skin and sweat and release, and Sander can feel how his gut twists and his body aches with desire every time Robbe tugs at him.

Soon, though, Sander is distracted by how dressed Robbe still is. He makes short work of Robbe’s t-shirt, jeans, briefs, until he can run his hands down Robbe’s back, unimpeded, his skin soft and warm under Sander’s palms, curving into every touch. 

And Sander loves it, how he can dip his middle finger into the cleft between Robbe’s cheeks, run his hands down further, squeeze, caress, scratch, pull gently, mould Robbe’s body in his hands, by his hands, taking such pleasure from holding him like this.

‘I love this,’ Sander moans into Robbe’s neck, ‘I love feeling you like this.’ He tucks his face into Robbe’s throat, groaning when he feels Robbe lift a knee and cage Sander against the wall with it, grinding against him. 

It’s the sweetest freedom when Robbe takes hold of Sander’s hand and eases it further down his back, guiding it towards his hole. When Sander’s fingers brush against it, Robbe moans, ‘Yeah. Right here.’

Sander isn’t sure if Robbe means _touch me here in the hallway_ , or _finger me_ , or both - but he’s desperate to do as he’s told. So he sucks on his own fingers, making sure they’re as wet as can be: then Sander kisses him, and doesn’t wait any longer to ease his finger inside. And he catches the breath it shocks from Robbe. It’s short, surprised, and immediately eases into a pleased hum. 

He loves feeling Robbe get harder from it, too, and he can’t help but smirk in pride. Licking along Robbe’s lips, Sander drags him closer, with his other hand on the back of Robbe’s thigh. There’s no way he can keep from moaning when the most sensitive part of his dick rubs against Robbe’s hip, and the sound of his own breath echoes like it’s on loudspeaker in the hallway. 

‘Fuck,’ he groans, ‘ _fuck_.’

The corner of Robbe’s smile is soft on his cheek as he grinds up on him, and Sander sighs in delight as his body relaxes into it, realising this is all real. He takes hold of Robbe’s ear between his teeth and pulls, feeling his mouth water as Robbe spikes his arousal even more. This is all he ever wants, just skin on skin, the desperate claiming touch of his boyfriend. Then Robbe says, ‘Get on the ground.’

‘What?’

Robbe lowers his leg, making Sander’s finger slip out, and then Robbe puts some space in between them, looking directly into Sander’s eyes as he says, ‘The thing you like.’

All the blood rushes to Sander’s head. While Robbe’s words settle in his mind, he takes Robbe’s hand and brings it to his mouth, easing two of Robbe’s fingers inside, sucking on them with his eyes closed, just because he can. Just because he wants to.

And because Robbe loves it when he does that.

‘Sander…’ he moans, his free hand moving to Sander’s hard dick, ‘Please tell me you want it-’

‘Want it?’ Sander repeats, biting Robbe’s bottom lip, ‘Baby, I’m gonna pull you apart like a peach and drink up your juices.’

He’s been dying to say that out loud, and now he has, and he sees the way Robbe shivers in response, he knows it was worth it.

‘ _Now_ ,’ Robbe whines, ‘Fucking _now_.’

‘Not on the ground,’ Sander adds. ‘Has to be on the bed.’

‘Fine,’ Robbe concedes, dragging him into his room, and pushing him onto his back on the bed. He immediately sits in Sander’s lap, crowding over him and kissing him as deep as he can. There’s too much space between them, though, for Sander’s liking, and he winds his arms around Robbe’s shoulders, trying to coax him closer. But Robbe shakes his head, glancing his nose off Sander’s, and then crawls further up the bed, right over Sander’s face.

And that’s when Sander realises.

‘Oh- oh-’ he stutters out, overwhelmed and thrilled at what Robbe is doing, lowering himself onto Sander’s face. ‘Baby- really?-’

He knows he shouldn’t sound so much like a kid opening their Christmas gifts as his boyfriend’s taint gets closer and closer, but he can’t help it. They’ve talked about this a few times already but Robbe’s never been sure about it. And now-

‘Yes really,’ he hears Robbe say, ‘I wanna have sex. Like this. I want you to have it. I just want _you_.’

Sander doesn’t wait a second longer. He curls his hands around Robbe’s thighs and holds him in place before he sticks his tongue out and circles it around Robbe’s pink hole. 

‘ _F-fuck_ ,’ Robbe sighs, bouncing a little, and Sander could cry for how much he loves this. How much he’s yearned for Robbe like this. It doesn’t even matter that Robbe’s balls are comically sitting on his eyebrow or that he wishes he could see this himself, he sucks and kisses and licks at the most intimate, the most tender place on Robbe’s body and revels in the knowledge he’s the first one who ever had the privilege. 

And judging by Robbe’s moans, he’s enjoying it more than he’d expected. He’s shaking and shuddering and groaning in ways Sander’s never heard before. Maybe it’s because this is their first time in a completely empty apartment, and Robbe’s got weeks of pent-up tension to release; but maybe it’s the way Sander is curling his tongue into Robbe’s puckered hole and sucking that’s prompting Robbe to sound like _that_. 

‘Sander-- S-Sander, baby, talk to me--’

‘You’re perfect,’ Sander gasps, before licking into him again, forcefully pulling him down harder onto his face. 

And Robbe lets out a high-pitched sound that lets Sander know he’s close, much closer than Sander thought. He’s moaning, moving tentatively on top of Sander, unsure if he should go faster - until Sander groans into his taint, and then Robbe dares a movement that looks and feels an awful lot like riding. 

But it’s when Robbe takes hold of two fistfuls of Sander’s hair and starts to ride him in earnest that Sander thinks he might die happily between his boyfriend’s thighs. Robbe’s legs are strained from it, his voice strained too, but his grip is strong in Sander’s hair and the way it thrills arousal through his whole body is overwhelming. He knows if he looked down at his dick it would already be wet. 

‘Oh, oh _god_ ,’ Robbe sighs as he takes a pause, ‘Sander- is this- is this ok?’

‘Do. Not. Stop,’ Sander orders, before returning his mouth to Robbe’s hole, and Robbe picks up his pace again, grinding his ass onto Sander’s face, and they both arch their backs with pure sexual desire, rocking together and making such ungodly sounds that Sander briefly wonders if the neighbours will complain. Not that he cares. He just wants to stay here, forever.

Then suddenly, Robbe stops. His hands tighten in Sander’s hair and his taint convulses, and Sander realises with a shock that he’s made his boyfriend come with just his tongue. Robbe lets out a long, agonised groan, leaning forward and moaning out, ‘Sander _fuck_ me.’ That’s when Sander can smell his boyfriend’s cum and he can’t help but move both his hands to his own dick, tugging at it now with renewed vigour and desperate need. 

Robbe leans down, level with Sander now, stretching out next to him, his cheeks flushed and red in a way that Sander could _bite_ , but instead he just gazes in near-cross-eyed desire at his hot boyfriend, fresh from orgasm, and Sander licks his own lips to remember the feeling of Robbe riding them.

‘I get why you like it, I think,’ Robbe says, breathless and smiling, as he trails his hands teasingly down Sander’s chest.

‘What?’ Sander asks, more like _wheezes_.

‘Why you like me sitting on your face,’ Robbe says, his expression so innocent, as he leans his head on his left hand, ‘you like it when I take charge a bit.’

‘Yeah I do,’ Sander sighs, his right hand tight around his tip, his left sneaking down his taint, and his eyes fixed on Robbe’s mouth. Briefly - obscenely - he imagines his cum dripping from Robbe’s lips, and it makes him tap his own hole with desire.

Robbe moves his hand further down, winding it under Sander’s, snaking it between his thighs, and whispering, ‘You want me to finger you, baby?’

Nodding. That’s all Sander can do in response. He just nods with no attempt at being sexy, he just needs Robbe’s hands.

And Robbe obliges, giving as good as he got, even more so than Sander had anticipated. 

He knows Sander’s body well enough by this point to know he just wants it rough now, so Robbe gets Sander to suck on two of his fingers, breathing hard through the feeling and the visuals of his boyfriend so turned on. Then, he pushes two fingers in all the way, and Sander’s eyes roll back in his head. 

‘Robbe!’ he shrieks, ‘Fuck… oh, god…’

‘You ate me out so good,’ Robbe whispers, ‘I don’t understand why I wouldn’t have wanted it before. You’re so hungry for it.’

Nodding. That’s all he can manage. Sander squeezes his eyes shut and focuses on matching tempo between his own hand on his dick, and the fingers Robbe is curling inside him. Something about Robbe smugly watching him like this, watching him fall apart, touching him just how he likes, is plucking strings in him he’s never felt before, and he feels like he might burst if Robbe isn’t quick.

‘What are you?’ Robbe asks.

Looking up at him, Sander sighs, ‘W-what?’ He’s close, he knows, because he can’t understand the question.

‘What are you?’ Robbe asks again, leaning down to clamp his teeth around Sander’s nipple. And then he bites, and Sander lets out a _howl_ , his back fully arched off the bed now.

‘You’re mine,’ Robbe says, kissing the pain away. Sander could swallow his tongue from the possessiveness in Robbe’s voice.

‘I’m yours,’ Sander replies, panting, one hand tied in his hair and his dick is aching with the need for release. But he knows Robbe is going to push him over the edge, any second now-

‘Say it again,’ Robbe commands, his thumb heavy on Sander’s taint, his eyes roaming over Sander’s face as he bites his own lip.

‘I’m all fucking yours,’ Sander moans, writhing on the bed as Robbe slips a third finger in side and curls it- just- right-

‘You’re all fucking mine,’ Robbe declares, and just like that, Sander’s whole body whites out, tensing with the orgasm that floods him, a long inhale frozen in his lungs, his muscles clenched as his jaw drops and he bellows out a moan that feels base, primal even, and cold washes over his face for a second before heat does. And then he clears the precipice, he releases, his body eases back into the bed, his breath coming in short sharp pants again, and he lets out another groan - ‘ _Robbe_ …’

Then he feels the wet patch behind his head from where Robbe came, and the sticky parts of his own abdomen, and he giggles from the absurdity of it. 

‘We made a mess,’ Sander says, gleeful. 

‘We did,’ Robbe agrees, his hand soft on Sander’s inner thigh, now. ‘Worth it, though.’

Then he turns around and grabs the box of tissues from his nightstand, cleaning the mess off Sander as best he can, before carelessly throwing the tissues on the floor.

‘You liked it? Really?’ Sander asks, when Robbe is settled on the bed again, ‘I mean- you _know_ I liked it, but-’

‘Yeah,’ Robbe says. He’s smiling, his wide brown eyes alight with mischief. ‘I liked it.’

‘So we can do it again sometime?’ Sander begs, as Robbe laughs and rolls on top of him, snuggling into his boyfriend, wrapping his arms around him and kissing his collarbone.

‘Yes, we can, you horny little imp.’

And though Robbe can’t see, Sander curls his hand into a fist and raises it to the sky in victory.

‘I felt that, nerd,’ Robbe says into his neck, and Sander giggles right along with him, before pulling the blanket over their warm, spent bodies.

‘I’m just glad I could help you relax,’ Sander murmurs into his hair, ‘I thought I was losing you.’

Robbe leans up and shakes his head, frowning and speaking soft in placating tones, ‘No. Not in this universe.’ 

With a kiss, and a softer apology for being so distant, Robbe eases Sander’s worry. ‘I never meant to make you anxious about us,’ Robbe says. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘If it ends in facesitting, I’ll take it anytime,’ Sander replies, and Robbe snorts, playfully pushing his face away before tilting it back and kissing him again, and again, and again.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm zaddyskam on tumblr!


End file.
